The Horns of the Buffalo (40 page)

‘However,' she gave him a bright smile, ‘things are by no means lost, my dear. You are not without friends and it sounds as though your Colonel Lamb could be helpful.' Then the smile disappeared and was quickly replaced by a frown. ‘The trouble is that Chelmsford sent him back to the Cape before the invasion to handle the dispatches with the Horse Guards - the General was still hoping to wheedle reinforcements out of London, you see - so he will be unaware of all this.' She stood up, thrusting her notebook away.

Simon scrambled to his feet. Tenderly, Alice kissed him on the cheek. ‘I must go now, for I have work to do. But I shall visit as often as I can.' She walked to the door and paused for a moment there. ‘Simon, make sure that you understand what your rights are in these proceedings and don't let them rush things through. I have a feeling that Lord Chelmsford will not want this court martial to be prolonged. He's got enough bad news to handle as it is, so I believe that he will want this affair to be pushed through as quickly and as quietly as possible, without it causing too much fuss back home. Hold fast and make sure that you have the witnesses that you want.'

She smiled and then rapped on the door and was gone, leaving in that fusty room a faint odour of perfume. Simon lay back on his mattress and felt a strange mixture of hope and despair blend in his puzzled mind. The hope came from Alice's presence and her advice. Perhaps she could help him, although exactly how he had no idea. But desertion . . .? Why should Covington bring this accusation? Somehow it rang deeper warning bells than the charge of assault, for it smacked of cowardice, of running away in the face of the enemy. It was the worst charge the army could bring against one of its own. And Alice was right, his peers (would there be a jury?) would presume that his former CO knew his character very well. Oh hell!

The next day, Major Spalding came to see him. Clearly ill at ease - not certain whether to treat his prisoner as a suspected criminal or as a colleague in difficulty - he explained that, as the nominal commanding officer of the post at Rorke's Drift and Helpmakaar, it was his duty to read the charges to Simon and to explain the procedure that would follow. The first charge was straightforward and accused him of striking a senior officer while in the field and on active service. The second, to which Simon listened with even more attention than the first, alleged that he had deserted the firing line at Isandlwana
before
its collapse, and had rushed to the rear.

The Major shifted awkwardly on the little stool. ‘The Deputy Judge Advocate wallah has been in touch with me,' he said. ‘Didn't know we'd got one in Natal, but it seems we have, or, at least, we do now. He tells me that the court martial is to be held here in a week's time and that you must let him, through me, know what witnesses you want to call in your defence. What happens, it seems, is that the prosecution witnesses are called first and questioned, then your witnesses are heard. Then the court adjourns while you and the prosecution write your cases. These are then put to the court - I'm told it's called “mailing” them, which seems a bit strange to me - and then this Deputy Judge Advocate fellah sums up and the court comes to a decision. Fairly straightforward, eh, what?'

Simon blinked. ‘Don't I have any legal advice? A defending lawyer, or something like that?'

‘Good lord, no. This is a court martial, not a civilian trial. It's much more straight and to the point. You're a soldier, so you will be judged by soldiers. Quick but fair, eh?'

‘What if I am found guilty?'

Again Spalding looked uncomfortable. ‘Not quite sure, actually. 'Fraid it could be a firing squad, given that you've got two charges against you. Or, on the other hand, if there are special circumstances, you could just be cashiered. But I can't really help you there, Fonthill.' The discomfort vanished and he rose. ‘Right then. Let me have your list of witnesses as soon as you can. Yes, well. Right then.'

Witnesses. Witnesses . . . Simon crouched by the little table with a stub of pencil and several sheets of writing paper and thought hard. On the assault charge, he could produce no one who could help him. He had struck Covington and that was that. He must simply explain his tiredness and his frustration at being prevented from warning Rorke's Drift. Desertion was another matter. Alice had said that Covington intended to throw doubt on Simon's work in Zululand. Nandi and Dunn perhaps could help, but where were they? He only had a week. How to find them? They might well have left the country by now and he had no one to search for them - no team of lawyers or detectives. Jenkins . . . Alas, Jenkins was dead. He believed that now, beyond doubt, and his best friend could help him no more. He chewed the end of the pencil and dredged through his tired mind. Colonel Lamb would surely testify about his task in Zululand, and for the rest, he would just have to rely on character references: Major Baxter, who had mentioned him in his dispatches could,
must
, provide one, and Chard, of course, the other. That would have to do. He scribbled a rough note for Spalding and called for the sentry.

Alice visited him just once more during his week of waiting. He told her of the date of the court martial and of the procedure and she made a note in her book. She had gained an interview with Lord Chelmsford but had found him predictably guarded about Isandlwana and claiming little knowledge of Simon's case. However, to Alice's gentle suggestion that there did not seem to be much of a case to answer, the General had snapped that any question of insubordination and desertion in the face of the enemy by a commissioned officer had to be thoroughly examined. If not nipped in the bud, he declared, this kind of thing could run through the army like cholera - particularly when the army faced a savage and efficient enemy.

Simon's heart sank at the news. It sounded as though they were going to make an example of him. Alice was reassuring but somehow distant and preoccupied. She could not stay long, she explained, because she was dining with the officers of the 2nd Battalion in the mess that evening and the next morning she had a journey to make. For the first time since their reunion, a little flame of jealousy flickered within Simon - but it was as much resentment of Covington, who would assuredly be her host, and envy of the sparkle and comfort of the occasion as any sexual emotion. Nevertheless, he reflected, as he threw breadcrumbs at a beetle scurrying across his floor, Alice did look gorgeous: like some houri from a glamorous former existence, serendipitously reappearing to taunt him. Life as a foreign correspondent was obviously suiting her. He stood up and squashed the beetle with his boot.

The day of the court martial arrived with one small boost to Simon's morale. His campaign trunks, left behind at Cape Town when he sailed for Natal, had now been forwarded and he was able to wear his dress uniform for the trial: tight (although not so tight now) red jacket with light green facing and polished brass buttons down the front; narrow dark blue trousers; gleaming black boots (buffed by himself, for he was not allowed a servant); the fore and aft glengarry on his head, with its black silk ribbons hanging down his back; and his sword. He felt that, at least, he now
looked
like a soldier.

The court martial had been set up in the largest of the wooden buildings in Helpmakaar. Even so, the room seemed small to Simon, who was marched in and told to sit on a folding camp chair set to one side. Two large benches stretched the width of the room and they faced a long table, behind which five chairs had been placed. At the side of, but set apart from, the top table a much smaller table had been set, with one chair behind it. A captain of engineers sat on the first bench, sifting through a pile of paper. Behind him sat two orderlies, with further files in cardboard folders. Two privates of the 2nd Battalion, with rifles and fixed bayonets, stood guard at the doors (why the bayonets, for God's sake - did they think he would attack the whole court?) and the company sergeant major who had taken him to his shack stood ramrod-straight, cane under arm, against the far wall. He gave a friendly nod to Simon and just the suspicion of a wink. The room was hot and humid and Simon hoped fervently that he would not perspire and give the impression of unease. He had decided to comport himself authoritatively, speak the truth and react intuitively to anything that Covington threw at him. In the absence of seeing any formal submission of the prosecution's case, that was all he could do.

Then, to his surprise, he saw Alice, sitting on a camp stool at the back of the room. To Simon's eyes she stood out again as some fragrant anomaly in the harsh military surroundings of the room-a visitor from another planet where there were no bloodstained spears, disembowelments or butchered drummer boys. She had braided her long hair and wore it Dutch style, wound round her head to frame her face. Her blouse was now complemented by a long riding skirt in soft green, revealing the familiar polished boots. She seemed to favour no cosmetics but her teeth gleamed whitely as she smiled at him across the room.

Simon made to get up to speak to Alice, but a small shake of the head from the sergeant major made him resume his seat. Feeling as though he was waiting outside the headmaster's study for a caning, he sat still, staring ahead.

Suddenly, the far door opened and the sergeant major bawled, ‘AttenSHUN!' Everyone sprang erect except Alice, who rose languidly to her feet and began fanning her face with her notebook. Into the room filed five officers, resplendent in their dress uniforms although somewhat hampered by their swords, which trailed low from their belts. They were followed by a tall, slim civilian, wearing a black gown and lawyer's wig. The latter sat at the small table at the side while the officers arranged themselves behind the long table.

‘Please do sit down,' said the officer sitting in the centre. He wore the uniform of a full colonel and his voice was soft. Thick-set and rather red of face, he wore a full beard and adjusted a pair of spectacles as he looked at the papers before him. Then he removed them and adjusted his gaze to Simon.

‘Please stand,' he said. ‘You are . . .' The Colonel tailed away into silence as he noticed Alice sitting at the back of the court. ‘Madam,' he said, ‘this is a court martial. A very private procedure conducted by the army. I am afraid that we cannot allow you to stay.'

Alice rose and smiled. ‘With the greatest of respect, Colonel, I have every right to be here, as a member of both the public and the press, as long as I don't make a nuisance of myself. This court martial is not private; it is an open court. I think that you will find that the Deputy Judge Advocate will agree.' Still smiling, she sat down.

Slowly, the arm of his spectacles hooked into his mouth, the Colonel leaned back and towards the lawyer. They whispered for a moment and then the Colonel addressed Alice. ‘You are quite right, madam,' he said. ‘I am grateful to you for pointing this out and preventing me from making a mistake. Please do stay.' He gave her a courteous seated bow, to which Alice responded similarly.

The Colonel now turned to Simon. Having ascertained his name and rank, he explained that he would introduce each member of the tribunal and that Simon would have the chance of objecting to the presence of any of them. Their names were read to him: a lieutenant colonel, one major and two captains. The chairman introduced himself as Colonel R.G. Glyn, Commander of the 1st Brigade. Simon remembered that he had been in nominal command of the central column, under Chelmsford, and had accompanied the General on the ill-fated reconnaissance to the east of Isandlwana. He had therefore missed the battle.

Simon objected to none of the members of the tribunal and then listened with care as the two charges were read out. ‘How do you plead to each charge?' asked Glyn.

‘Guilty to the first charge,' said Simon, ‘but,' he hurried on, ‘I wish to offer mitigating circumstances. To the second charge I plead not guilty.'

With a slight frown, Glyn looked across at the lawyer, who gave a small nod. ‘Very well,' said Glyn. He then went on to explain that the prosecution would be presented by Captain Bradshaw, the officer sitting with a worried frown and his files on the front bench, who would call his witnesses. These could be cross-examined by Simon, as could Simon's witnesses by Bradshaw - or any member of the tribunal.

‘Now,' said Glyn, adjusting his spectacles again and holding up a document before him. ‘I understand that you have requested that Colonel Lamb, of the Commander-in-Chief's staff, and Major Baxter, of the Royal Artillery, should appear to give evidence on your behalf. I am afraid that this will not be possible. Colonel Lamb has urgent business in Cape Town and cannot leave there at present and Major Baxter is besieged by the Zulu with Colonel Pearson's force at Eshowe and, obviously, cannot be here. I understand that you wished to present both as witnesses of character rather than of events, so we have been able to obtain statements from them - with some difficulty, I may say, in the case of Baxter - which the court will accept as evidence. Lieutenant Chard, of course, will attend.'

Glyn looked over the top of his spectacles at Simon, who, feeling that some response was called for, said, ‘I am very grateful, sir,' but inwardly cursed at losing the chance of fielding Lamb.

Captain Bradshaw now rather nervously rose to his feet. ‘I have three witnesses, sir,' he said, ‘one of whom will give evidence on both counts.' (Covington, of course, thought Simon.) ‘The second will speak only to the first charge' (the sergeant, naturally) ‘and the third only to the second charge.' (Now, who the hell can that be? mused Simon.)

Glyn nodded and the first witness was ushered in by the sergeant major. It was, predictably, Sergeant Evan Jones, of the 2nd Battalion 24th Regiment, who Simon had last seen standing thunderstruck beside the fallen Covington, out on the plain after Isandlwana.